


A Love, A Fear

by Speary



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, POV Castiel, season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10074731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speary/pseuds/Speary
Summary: His hands rested at his sides on the truck seat until he brought them up to pray. He remembered though, that God was gone, and no one that cared could hear him. Castiel sighed and just pressed his palms together anyway and rested his fingers against his lips. He loved Dean, and that was the most frightening thing in the universe.





	

Fear is a strange thing. There are so many things in life that seem worthy of the emotion. Demons real and imagined, death, loss, even the ever elusive thing that goes bump in the night have warranted fear from many. There were things though that one shouldn’t fear. As he drove down the highway, Castiel knew fear. Fear was what sent him farther and farther from home.

 

On most normal days, one could easily say that Castiel feared nothing. He fought through Hell itself for the righteous man. He stood up to Lucifer in a multitude of ways. He fought demons, angels, Leviathan. He lived and he died. He was brave in the face of insurmountable odds. Yet he was afraid. He was so afraid in fact that he found himself pulled over on the side of the road just staring out at the dark country plains. 

 

He was almost home, and he was afraid. The things one fears are relative. He could kill and fight and die. He’d died enough times now to see it as not such a bad thing. Yet he wasn’t always brave. He sat in the car waiting for some sort of revelation. He didn’t know what to do. He was an angel, and he was afraid with very good reason.

 

His hands rested at his sides on the truck seat until he brought them up to pray. He remembered though, that God was gone, and no one that cared could hear him. Castiel sighed and just pressed his palms together anyway and rested his fingers against his lips.

 

He felt certain things in the last so many days that were uncomfortable. He’d crossed a line, several maybe. To be fair, he thought that he was dying and that none of it would matter. He knew what Dean felt, what he’d been going through for years, maybe forever. He thought as the end loomed near that a few words could go a long way toward fixing that. 

 

Castiel thought about that a little more and then squeezed his eyes shut. He spent time trying to rationalize his choices again and again. None of his rationalizations though could wash away the stark undeniable fact that he told Dean, not because he was trying to help or fix something that was broken. Castiel told Dean that he loved him because it was the deepest most important thing he’d ever felt, and selfishly, he needed, no wanted, Dean to know it.

 

He tried to tell himself that he needed to tell Dean. Their lives had been far too consumed with secrets, and secrets did so much harm. Need and want though are distant cousins, and saying that he told Dean merely because he needed to do so belied the truth. Castiel wanted to tell him. He’d wanted to tell him for some time. 

 

He also never wanted to tell him. The consequences of too much feeling where Dean was concerned would likely be cosmic in scale.  _ Why couldn’t I just die then? _ It wasn’t as if he truly wanted to be dead, but sometimes he thought that it would be easier than dealing with feelings that could never have an outlet. Then he thought of the consequences of death where he was concerned.

 

_ I’d never see Dean again. _ And that was enough to make him regret the wish. He could live with seeing him living out his days, fighting the good fight, even if it was as a useful, friendly angel. There were other reasons to live too, but it was always the selfish reason that would hit him first.

 

There were certainly other options that he could explore. He could fall. He could become human. He wanted that. He’d been human before. Time and circumstances though, made that less than ideal. And wanting that was also selfish. What would be gained by falling? He’d be able to live honestly, tell Dean how he felt in no uncertain terms,  _ I love you not as a brother in arms, not as a brother at all. I love you like you are the very center of my universe. I love you in a way that burns bright and all consuming. I love you so much that even the barest touch sends me into a state of blissful shock. For how could I have any of this?  _

 

He sat still and thought of all those declarations that would have to whither and die in his mind. He’d been human before, after all, and that time had shown him what could never be. He couldn’t hunt. He couldn’t heal Dean or Sam from injuries. He couldn’t find peace or happiness, and eventually was cast aside.

 

_ There were other factors though. _ Often he had tried to tell himself that it could be different now. He could be different. Dean could be different too. He came back to the healing though. He considered the many broken bones, torn ligaments, the gashes that had marred Dean’s flesh. He’d considered even the simple headaches that would follow a hunt that had gone on for too long. He’d considered how he had healed him, and Sam too, time and time again. In the end, to be human was to choose never to heal them, never to be what they truly needed.  _ And for what? _

 

So Castiel lived with it. The confession though, threw a wrench in the works. He wanted Dean. It was more than need. He immediately went back into the field, back into his search for Kelly. He couldn’t be near him and not near him. He was finding it harder and harder to prolong his journeys away, to even find reasons good enough for leaving in the first place. Dean could go with him, hunt for the mother of Lucifer’s child, but Castiel needed to be away. He needed to have space. That space and time apart made it possible for him to water down his ever increasing imaginings.

 

When he was home, he found himself looking longer, dreaming though he did not sleep. He found himself seeking out excuses for contact where he need not have any. Dean for his part never seemed to question it. He was quick to hug Cas. He was quick to drag his hand over his shoulder ending the movement in a squeeze of affection that Castiel counted as better than any embrace that they could never have. Sometimes his eyes lingered on Dean’s lips as he spoke, and Castiel imagined kissing him, just gently enough to excuse it as something that maybe friends do. He thought that he’d likely be able to get away with it once, saying that he saw a show once where some friends kissed or something. It was weak at best as far as excuses and plans go, but he did consider it a possible path.

 

He swore to himself, that one day, before the end of the world or the next apocalypse, he’d cup Dean’s cheek in his hand and breathe in the air between them. He’d carry what was once in Dean within himself. He’d live out his remaining days with that moment real and precious firmly set in his mind. He thought that Dean would let him do this, if he sold the act just right. He’d have to come up with some excuse or else the intimacy would be apparent and maybe uncomfortable. He could do it easily if Dean were injured, but somehow that seemed to cheapen it.  _ Why must these moments always be tainted by near death experiences? _ He wanted it without the pain of death looming over either of them. He wanted to have this one memory built in a moment of simple joy. He could be happy enough with that.

 

Dean was unhappy. He had been praying about his mom, keeping Cas in the loop. It was appreciated, but he wished for a phone call instead. They could actually talk then. Their calls had been all business lately. He wished that he didn’t have to face the fact that he had changed their dynamic. His simple deathbed declaration had changed everything. He could try denying it to himself forever, but he knew that he had done this, changed this. They didn’t discuss it. He’d said that he loved them, and then he almost died. He was pretty sure Dean had some feelings about that event despite their lack of conversation on that front.

 

Castiel felt regrets. He felt like everything he’d worked so hard to keep in check was falling apart. He had no business sharing what he felt. That was best kept locked away, safe. Yes, Dean deserved love and a shot at a good future. He didn’t though deserve the confusion that Cas was bringing to the proverbial table. Cas ran his hands up into his hair, a Dean Winchester move of frustration if there ever was one.

 

He meant what he said then. He did love him, them, mostly Dean though. Something in him just couldn’t die without sharing that final secret. Now he was alive, and the secret was out. He told himself that it hardly mattered. Dean would think of it as the love one has for family.

 

Castiel remembered his face though. He remembered the sad desperation that flickered in his eyes. He remembered the moment that it really hit Dean. It was clear that Dean knew 100% what Cas meant. He was in love with Dean, and Dean knew it. There was nothing to be done about that now except to repress it and look for distractions from the potential uncomfortable conversation.

 

Luckily Dean was just as reluctant to talk about feelings and complex issues. Longing drifted to him, desperate and pained. Castiel focused on the feeling. Dean was hurting. It was an emotional pain and not the physical pains of battle. He heard the prayer next.  _ Why can’t she just love us? Are we that bad? _ The prayer stopped there. Castiel wanted to call him, talk him through this, whatever this was. Dean is loved. He is well and truly loved, and he deserves to know it.

 

Castiel didn’t pick up his phone. He didn’t make the call. He instead started his truck again and rolled on down the highway toward home. He thought that perhaps, nothing could be simple for them. He thought that perhaps, the best things never were. He could heal Dean of nearly every hurt, but he seemed incapable of healing the worst of his pain. He’d drive home. He’d drive to Dean. He’d tell him the most selfish thing in the world. Castiel, angel of the lord, would tell Dean Winchester that he loved him. He’d make it clear that he was wanted, needed, important. And if words failed him, he’d draw him in, kiss him  past confusion into acceptance. He’d love him out loud and with all that he had. 

 

It was selfish. Heaven would be quick to note it, and the angels would send his brethren to mete out retribution. What price would he pay for that?  _ What price would Dean pay? _ And again, Cas pulled off the road and let his truck idle on the shoulder. Home was two hours away, and yet it was on the other side of the universe. He’d cry out at the unfairness of the situation. He’d laugh and let madness overtake him. He’d give up, if only he knew how to fully do so. He gripped the steering wheel and nearly crushed it. He glanced over his shoulder and whipped the car back onto the road. He turned back the way he had come. He was afraid, but he'd at least learned to live with it. He drove onward, toward Kelly or whatever lead he could chase that would keep him from home.

**Author's Note:**

> As always thank you for any kudos you feel like leaving and any kind words. You can also find me on Tumblr under the name [Spearywritesstuff](http://spearywritesstuff.tumblr.com/)


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